More Than the Moon
by darthsydious
Summary: Anthea is expecting her first child, Mycroft is nervous but warming to the idea. Mythea. TRIGGER WARNING: character suffers miscarriage
1. More Than the Moon

**TRIGGER WARNING: Character loses baby due to miscarriage. Not graphic, but it is the main topic for this fic.**

* * *

When Anthea told him she was pregnant, he held back his initial response, waiting to gauge her reaction. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes and the blushing smile she was doing her best to hold back for his sake (unnecessary of course) she was beyond pleased. Of course he was delighted, and quite proud too. Why shouldn't he be? He'd never planned on children, or, for that matter, marrying, but he was, and so children, despite the preventative steps within reason every couple takes, were a possibility, not an inevitability.

Knowing now that Mycroft was not upset, Anthea grew more and more eager with each passing day. She was only a few weeks along, and already she was looking at cribs, at car seats and rompers, playpens suitable for Mycroft's office.

"Whatever for?" he asked, doing his best to withhold his horror at the thought of a playpen in his office.

"I cannot take care of him all the time," Anthea replied.

"I…will take care of it when it is older," Mycroft sniffed. She laughed and kissed his forehead, thumbing away the lipstick stain left there.

"You'll know what to do, don't worry," she smiled.

At fifteen weeks, Anthea went to her doctor's appointment, Mycroft waving her off with a kiss and having her swear to send him a text just as soon as the sonogram results were printed, he wanted all the details. He'd rather be with her for the appointment, but talks with the Russian Embassy were impossible, and Anthea knew he was needed there (Prime Ministers could be so dense, sometimes).

The nurse performing the sonogram was smiling and Anthea was glad to be able to really gush about just how excited she really was to be having a baby. The nurse was smiling and nodding as she prepped the machine and put on a pair of gloves. Anthea fell quiet at last, waiting for the screen to blink on.

"Is it booting up?" she asked.

"It's on," the nurse said, still looking at the dark screen. "I'm not…quite sure, I'm going to fetch the doctor, alright? Just stay put, back in a moment, nothing to worry about."

"Oh…okay…" Anthea answered. It couldn't be good when someone told you not to worry. It was never good. In fact it usually meant it was something terrible.

A few moments passed and the doctor entered, smiling brightly at Anthea.  
"Good afternoon Mrs. Holmes," he said conversationally. "Sometimes these machines can be finicky," it was a lie, and all three of them knew it. "Just a little finagling," he moved the transducer over her abdomen, looking at the screen. "You're fifteen weeks?"

"Just over," she murmured. "Yes, fifteen weeks."

"Mm," the doctor murmured. He turned to the nurse so their backs were to Anthea, they looked at the screen, then each other. Finally the doctor shut the machine off, and the nurse went about wiping the gel off Anthea's belly.

Anthea felt numb, but she forced herself to look up as the doctor rounded the bed, sitting down beside her.

"Mrs. Holmes, I am very sorry."

No one knew Mycroft Holmes to cancel meetings ever, but everyone knew it must have been a terrible reason for him to do so. He maintained his calm until he reached home, thrusting his bag and umbrella at the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Holmes is upstairs," she called and he thanked her.

Anthea sat on the small sofa in his office, her expression was blank and she held a file in her lap.

"Anthea,"

"We lost the baby," she said. The room was silent and Mycroft couldn't tear his gaze from her. Anthea seemed so unlike herself, so eerily calm about such a subject. "They took care of everything this afternoon." Mycroft realized she was still under effects of the local anesthesia she'd been administered. He wanted to say how much he wished she'd called as soon as she found out, so he would've been there when they had to remove the baby, their baby. Anthea continued, "I found a plot at St. Mary's, very small near a hazel tree. I thought…it would be suitable."

Mycroft didn't know what to do for a moment.

"Well, we can worry about it later," he said at last, not recognizing his own voice. "You should be resting, or- I could draw you a bath, or perhaps you'd like something-"

"Will you get the plot?" she interrupted. "Please? It's- it's a nice place."

"Yes of course," he said immediately. It was difficult to speak, he swallowed thickly, willing the sting in his eyes to go away.

"I thought it might- we could call her Hazel…because..." she was trying to smile as her eyes welled up with tears. "Wouldn't that be silly, named Hazel, buried next to a hazel tree?"

"It is a pretty name," he said. Her smile finally fell and she began to sob, doubling over, cradling herself. Mycroft was at her side in a moment, drawing her between his knees, rocking her back and forth.

It was a long while before either of them moved. Anthea was first, and Mycroft was close behind, gently ushering her into the bathroom, Mrs. Danvers, the heavenly woman, had run a bath with lavender oil so Mycroft lost no time in helping his wife out of her clothes and assisting her into the tub. He washed her hair and combed it until it was sleek and smooth. As he wove it into a long braid, Anthea finally spoke again:

"They said we can always try again."

Mycroft said nothing, though she felt his hands automatically pause for a barest instant as he braided her hair.

"But I can't," she went on, her voice was steady. "The doctor said we can run tests, and I agreed, and in the meantime, after I've healed that we can always try again, but I can't...I don't want to try again and go through this. Not yet. There's a file he gave me. It explains it all there." It hurt too much to hope that this was just a fluke, Anthea didn't dare let herself believe there was a chance to be had when she was still grieving. Maybe after they buried Hazel, but not now.

"I'll read it," he promised. If Anthea wanted children, perhaps there was another way, there were always steps they could take, the question was, would she want to take them?

"Please don't ask me now," she murmured, knowing what he was thinking.

"I won't."

He fetched a tray for them, returning with leftovers and little savories that he knew she loved best, and she smiled at his efforts. They watched boring television in bed and stayed always within arm's reach for the rest of the night. There were questions to be answered, calls to make and people to inform, but the only time Mycroft picked up the phone was to reserve the plot Anthea had asked for. There would be time enough tomorrow to break the news to family, when they would be strong enough to endure the endless handshakes and constant apologies. For now, Mycroft drew Anthea into his arms, holding her close. She cried silently now, wiping her cheeks now and then.

"It doesn't disturb me, you know," he said, meaning her crying was not a bother.

"I know," she said. "I just haven't the strength to give it any real effort."

Silence again. The tv droned on, something about knives cutting through pennies or some nonsense. Anthea switched the channel, turning the volume down. Tonight they'd leave the television on to fall asleep to. She released a heavy sigh, curling up closer to him, arm draped over his middle.

"You do want children though?" he asked after a long moment. Her grip on his waist tightened only for a moment, and he barely felt it.

"More than anything."


	2. More Than Anything

Hazel Isobel Holmes was buried beside a hazel tree in St. Mary's Cemetery. When she was buried, Mycroft and Anthea did not tell family or friends, though neither was too surprised when Sherlock arrived, Molly on his arm.

"You needn't have come," Mycroft said.

"Yes we did," Sherlock answered and for once, Mycroft did not reply. Anthea appreciated their coming, and so he said no more.

After, Molly offered them an invitation to dinner.

"It's nothing much, just a bite, but it's keeping warm for us." Anthea, having not ventured out since the awful day she lost the baby, nodded.

"That would be nice, thank you."

Back at 221b, Mycroft took down a bottle of wine as Molly set the table. He took out glasses, setting them beside the plates.

"Oh, no thank you Mycroft," she said when he went to fill her glass. Something in her tone startled him, the hint of urgency, hidden behind a voice trying to sound casual. He looked up sharply at her, and she met his gaze. He studied her carefully, from the tips of her fingers touching the rim of her glass up to her shoulder. Her face was rounder; her waist had expanded by two, no, three inches recently, judging by the strained fabric of her blouse. Just enough to be uncomfortable. Her other hand moved as if to cover her belly and then stopped immediately, she instead tucked it behind her back. He thought back to earlier that afternoon, at the cemetery, Molly had touched her abdomen, perhaps unconsciously at least six times, as if protective of it. He realized with a start what she was not telling him, and slowly, he nodded. He then poured a glass for Sherlock.

"Silly me, you're on a diet, aren't you?" he asked conversationally and she put on a smile, relieved.  
"Yes, that's it, you know me. I'd rather waste calories on pastry than wine!"

"Oh do have a glass," Anthea said as she made her way to the table. "Don't be the only one without."

"No really, I don't want any," Molly said. Anthea shrugged and let it be, accepting just a half glass from Mycroft before seating herself. After dinner, Mycroft and Sherlock departed to the corner of the living room where Sherlock's latest case evidence covered the wall above the couch.

"We'll have to plan a girl's night," Anthea said. "Mary's finally finished breastfeeding; she's dying for a night out,"

"Gosh, is she, already?" Molly asked, worrying the hem of her dress.

"You knew, of course you knew," Anthea was surprised at Molly. "But Mycroft tells me I need to keep up my routine, good way to start it off is maybe a dinner and dancing for us girls."

"I guess I forgot, with everything happening, but I'll see what days I have off," Molly said. Anthea looked baffled. Molly was not one to put off nights out with her and Mary, especially weeks that Sherlock had a case. "Honestly, my schedule is all mad these days, but I promise I will call," she squeezed Anthea's hand. Mycroft, having heard the conversation, made their excuses, gathering their coats.

"I think Molly is uncomfortable around me," Anthea said after they climbed into the car.

"Spot on as usual, my love," Mycroft replied and she looked at him in surprised.  
"What?"

"You are correct in your assumption, she is uncomfortable around you, but not for the reason you think."

"Well…what then?" Anthea asked.

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask her yourself, I shouldn't like to tell another person's secret, suffice to say, it is nothing you've done, nor me, for that matter."

"Oh."

After a moment, his hand slipped around her's, an action he'd taken to doing quite a lot recently, and she didn't mind it.

"Believe me you're not at fault," he said quietly. "Not for Molly's secretiveness, nor for what happened."

"But what if I am?" she asked. "What if we can't and it is my fault?"

"Then if you still wish for children we can adopt one."

"You would allow that?"

"Of course I would!" he was surprised. "You want children, and our options, while limited, are not forbidden, it is up to you how you wish to go about having them."

She said nothing more, but she laced her fingers between his and he understood she meant to thank him.

Months passed, and Mycroft waited for Sherlock and Molly to announce the impending arrival of their firstborn. As it happened, Anthea found out before they could tell them, and she went to Mycroft first.

"How long have you known?" she asked. He glanced up from his paperwork, her tone made him pause.

"About what?" he asked, honestly having no idea what she was referring to.

"About Molly being pregnant. Did they tell you to keep it from me?" He shut his laptop immediately and set his pen and pad aside.

"How did you find out?"

"Checking on the CCTV feed, she was buying rompers for a newborn. Since her niece is out of diapers, and the Watson's baby isn't that small, I figured they must be for her. And anyway if that wasn't clue enough I saw the bottle of prenatal vitamins on her desk at Barts."

"I see," he nodded. "No, they have told me nothing. I realized she was pregnant the day we buried Hazel. She declined alcohol, and while it isn't unheard of for her to say no to a drink now and then, her manner indicated she was expecting, that, along with her sudden weight gain. I would expect she's a little over two months by now."

"Oh." Quiet. "Well," she slowly crossed the room, taking a seat on the small couch. "That's wonderful, isn't it?"

"Mmhm," he stood then, making his way to her.

"Really it is, it's what she's always wanted," she sniffed, and finally covered her face with her hands. He put his arm around her, drawing her close. "I'm so happy for her," she insisted, voice muffled by his waistcoat.

"I know you are."

He let her cry, and when she was done, she wiped her eyes.

"I'm going to clean up, and then let's bring over a present for the baby."

"What? Today? Are you certain-"

"Yes I am," she answered firmly. "I don't want them to walk on eggshells around me." With that she turned on her heel, hurrying upstairs.

Sherlock opened the door to see Anthea and Mycroft standing beside a large box wrapped in paper covered in Winnie-the-Pooh and bumble-bees.

"Come in," he murmured. Mycroft made no move to pick up the box, as Sherlock had not expected him to. He stepped into the hall, pushing it all the way into the flat after them before he kicked the door shut. "Molly!" The pathologist appeared from the bedroom, a pile of folded laundry sat on the bed.

"Who's here? Oh, Anthea, Mycroft, come in, can I get you anything? Tea or coffee? Sherlock solved a case for the Turkish Ambassador, his people have been sending us baskets of little biscuits and coffees and chocolate-"

"Thank you, tea will be fine," Mycroft answered.

"Molly, they've brought us a present." She looked at the box at their feet, seeing the wrapping paper. The flat was still as she looked at the large box, the wrapping paper and bow glaringly obvious it was a gift meant for a baby.

"Oh thank you," she said immediately, and smiled widely. She made her way around the box, hugging Anthea outright. She squeezed hard. "_Thank you_," she murmured. Anthea smiled over Molly's shoulder, finally stepping back. She brushed tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Open your present," her voice was soft, though her smile was genuine. "And tell me about my niece or nephew."


	3. I Wish

The months passed, Molly grew, and Anthea found she was genuinely happy for one of her dearest friends. If anyone deserved to be a mother it was Molly. She even helped Mary organize a baby shower. Sometimes, on very bad days, she allowed herself to feel sorry for herself. Her bouts of melancholia worried Mycroft, and he would work from home on these days. Still, Molly's due date crept closer and closer, and Anthea pushed her own worries aside, busying herself with setting up their nursery, happy to do so, and truly enjoying spending so much time with Molly, who was roly-poly as a beach-ball and twice as amusing.

"Has Violet called you?"

"Oh, every day," Molly laughed, sinking into John's chair. "Tells me what works for back-aches, what's good for indigestion, and nags Sherlock to treat me right,"

"Someone should," Anthea added.

"He does," Molly promised. Anthea sank onto the couch, putting her feet up with a sigh. "You feeling alright?" Anthea shrugged.

"I'm expecting my monthly; I know that's got to be it."

"Bane of existence when you're trying for a baby," Molly said and Anthea smiled, amused.

"Literally a big red 'You failed' sign." Molly's smile fell somewhat and the PA shook her head. "Don't listen to me though, it's frustrating is all. The doctors all said to just keep trying for a year, it'll be eight months next week. They've already run a couple tests on me, I'm still waiting to hear from them, and if they're inconclusive, they'll run more tests. God, I hate this."

"I know how you feel," Molly said, soothing circles over her belly. Anthea gave a small nod, there was some comfort in that. It still didn't change the fact that she was still not pregnant. "Sherlock and I were told the same thing, he-"

Speak of the devil, the Consulting Detective came barreling in, a foul stench wafted behind him. John, weighed down by two buckets, remained on the landing.

"Sherlock Holmes, I am not bringing buckets of chum into the same house as your pregnant wife!" he bellowed.

"Wait outside!" Sherlock answered, waving his hand. John called hello up to the women before trudging back outside.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked, accepting a kiss from him.

"I knew you'd forget," he took the headphones from the desk, plugging them into the media player. Placing them over her belly, he scrolled through the playlists. "There,"

"What's our Nicholas listening to this afternoon?" Molly asked.

"Verdi, Macbeth," Sherlock answered. "Never too early, turn the volume down at 'Vieni t'affretta', Lady Macbeth makes quite an entrance. I'll be late coming in, don't wait up!"

"Bye, love you,"

"I know," Sherlock called over his shoulder, hurrying out, shutting the door behind him. John's voice was muffled by the outer doors, still shouting about being left outside with the buckets of chum.

"He means 'I love you too'," Molly explained.

"You don't have to explain Holmes behaviour to me," Anthea laughed.

"That reminds me," Molly shifted herself in the chair, adjusting the volume on the headphones on her belly. "I was talking to Sherlock, and he agreed that we'd like you and Mycroft to be his guardians." Anthea was clearly touched. She looked at her skirt, pinching the fabric until it wrinkled.

"Has he told Mycroft?"

"He will be tonight, that's why he's going to be late."

"I think he'd be very proud to accept," Anthea said at last. "As would I." The kettle whistled and she got to her feet, Molly remained where she was, not even bothering to try and get up. At eight months she stayed where she sat. Someone would inevitably fetch whatever was making noise for her.

As Molly's due-date crept closer and closer, it seemed that everyone leapt on the phone whenever it rang, hoping it would be the call. Anthea and Mycroft were in a conference when the call came. She checked the text twice; to be sure she understood her brother in-law's message correctly.

"Sir," she leaned over and Mycroft inclined his head so she would speak into his ear. "There have been developments," she tilted her phone under the table so he could see the message:

_BABY IS A GO – SH _

Nodding slightly to her, he turned his attention to the table before him.

"Gentlemen, I trust you can solve this trial at a later date, for now, I have urgent business to attend." No excuse was needed when Mycroft Holmes left a meeting. Calmly, Anthea and Mycroft stood, gathered their things and he opened the door for her.

The double doors closing behind them they broke into a jog, heading for the car park.

"Call the driver, have him pull around,"

"I already have, I've sent messages to the hospital staff, they've got a room for Molly all set,"

"See that traffic is clear for them; let Sherlock know we're on our way. Find that Doctor Harcourt, I'd prefer he handle this,"

"Done," Anthea confirmed. The car pulled up to the curb and they leapt in.

By the time they reached the hospital, Mary and John were in the waiting room.

"How is she?" Mycroft asked. John, looking grim, glanced between Mycroft and Mary before he started filling them in.

**Fourteen Hours Later…**

In a private waiting room, Mycroft paced restlessly. Every now and again, his hands searched his pockets briefly before recalling whatever he was looking for was not on his person.

"Stop looking for your cigarettes, you know I left them at the office," Anthea murmured quietly. John and Mary shared the sofa, sitting at opposite ends, their feet propped on each other's laps. There wasn't much to say amongst them, no one wanted to bother with stupid questions about how long the labor was, or that the doctors were grim when Molly was wheeled into the hospital. At long last, the door to the waiting room opened, and a capped doctor appeared. The group turned with a start, all holding their breath until the doctor smiled tiredly at them.

"She is perfectly fine,"

"And the baby?" Mycroft demanded, before anyone else could.

"Nothing we will worry about right now, he's checked out so far, but we'll keep close tabs on him," the doctor promised. "You may all go and see them now."

In the warm room, Molly was nestled cozily amid the pillows and blankets. She only had eyes for the bundle Sherlock was so very tenderly cradling in his arms. John breathed a sigh of relief, he'd half-expected to see the baby in an incubator. He had seen the baby's chart, and for having been carried to full term, Nicholas Hamish Holmes was a small baby. But everything must be alright, or the doctors would have said something. With Mycroft Holmes in the building, every precaution would be taken, and sloppiness and shirking of even the smallest detail would not be tolerated.

"Sherlock, let them see him," Molly said gently, reminding her husband there were others who wanted to meet the baby. Sherlock grumbled reluctantly before carefully handing the baby over to John and Mary.

Mycroft watched Anthea as the others cooed and fussed over the baby, speaking quietly of the birth and how everything had gone. His wife only had eyes for the tiny bundle in Mary's arms. Full of longing and wonder, she worried her hands, trying to wait patiently for her turn. After a few moments more, Sherlock took the baby from John's arms, and turned to Anthea. Carefully, oh so carefully, he settled her nephew into her arms. Mycroft's arm went automatically around her waist, assisting her into the chair behind her.

"Oh…" she murmured. Her eyes brimming with tears, she tucked the blanket under Nicholas' chin. "Heavens isn't he lovely, Mycroft?"

Mycroft had never seen anything particularly wonderful about babies, especially newborns. But seeing Anthea so moved, Mycroft put on a smile for her, coming to kneel beside her to peer at his nephew.

"Very much so," he agreed. "Just the same as his mother," he said to Molly.

After a few moments, John and Mary excused themselves, promising to return with food from a nearby restaurant, as everyone had quite had their fill of whatever the cafeteria was offering.

"Oh," Anthea realized that the room was quiet, and she was still holding Nicholas as if he were her baby. "I'm sorry, I- here, Sherlock, take him before I go all to pieces." She passed son back to father, who cuddled the boy, making a rather charming picture. "I'm just going to wash my face," Anthea excused herself. "Get the dirt of the day off." She left the room and Mycroft did not pursue her, not right away, knowing she wanted a moment to collect herself.

He found her in the ladies' room, pressing a paper towel to her face.

"You'll agrrivate your skin," he said and took out his silk handkerchief. "Here,"

"I'm sorry," she stuttered through her tears. "I just…" she trembled, her free hand dropped limply to her side. "More than anything I-" she sighed heavily, trying to relieve the pressure in her chest, trying to calm her fraying nerves that seemed to leap from happiness for Molly and Sherlock, excitement at being an aunt for the first time in her life, to enormous grief that she couldn't quell, grief at the thought that she would never be a mother. "I _wish…_"

He tugged her into the circle of his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I know."


	4. To Get

**A warehouse in London, four months later…**

"Have you decided what you'll do?" Sherlock withdrew the cigarette from his lips as Mycroft lit his own.

"I thought Molly wouldn't have you smoking after the baby was born," Mycroft replied.

"She won't, this is a special occasion, as you're mourning for the child Anthea shan't have," there was no mean-spiritedness in his tone, so Mycroft took it as Sherlock's condolences.

"Adoption would be the only available choice," Mycroft shrugged. "I have yet to ask her, I am unsure how she feels about such a topic."

"How do you feel about it?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft choked, coughing as he exhaled a breath of smoke.

"What the hell am I to say to that?"

"One would expect your opinion," Sherlock smirked. "Believe it or not, when it comes to my future niece or nephew, or both, I am interested in your feelings on the matter. I will, after all, be regarded as the fun and enjoyable relative, especially in their teen years,"

"As will your son," Mycroft added.

"-Until such a time when he realizes I am, in fact, irreplaceable, and love me best once again," Sherlock topped neatly. Mycroft rolled his eyes, sighing.

"If Anthea wishes to adopt a child, then I shall support her, I should prefer an infant if it be the case."

"As little problems regarding it's true parentage as possible, hm?" Sherlock inquired and Mycroft gave him a look.

"Such a thing is not so bad to hope for, easier on the child and mother, so I'm told." With that Mycroft dropped his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. "That's it for me; do call again if you need anything." Sherlock hesitated for only a moment, and Mycroft paused. "Yes?"

"Nicholas will need to undergo tests, more…extensive than the ones previous," Sherlock admitted at last. He flicked the end of his cigarette, looking at his shoes. He sniffed, and then looked to the middle-distance. "The doctors are concerned that he does not relax himself, not even when he is asleep, and there is the issue of his constant crying."

"One would assume they go hand-in-hand," Mycroft said with a shrug. He tapped his shoe with the tip of his umbrella. "I will have people look into it, have the bill sent to me, it is nothing-" Sherlock made to protest, indignant, but Mycroft waved his hand. "Molly has been indispensible to Anthea regarding this whole past year, and…it is my nephew after all. I will help where I can." Slowly, Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you."

They departed in opposite directions then, Mycroft to the Diogenes Club and Sherlock to St. Barts.

Days drifted by, and Anthea kept busy. She promised Mycroft she was well enough, considering, though he could see she was hesitating to tell him something. Still, she never withheld anything very important for long, and he only had to wait patiently for her to bring it up. Whatever she was hiding, it was something she held near and dear. She was up late some nights, the keys of her laptop clickety-clacking under her fingers and Mycroft, though he dearly wanted to know, left her to her own devices. He caught sight of her screen once or twice; it looked like an online forum. Seeing him look, she explained it was a sort of chat line for women who couldn't conceive.

"It's a bit like group therapy," she said with a shrug. "It's nice, knowing there's someone else out there who understands." He kissed her forehead and smiled, pleased.

Then one day, Mycroft sat at the breakfast table looking over the London Times when three manila envelopes were placed by his elbow. He looked up with some confusion to Anthea who only gave a slight nod.

"I'll let you look these over," she said, her voice was soft, and he could see a hint of trepidation in her eyes. "Take your time, I'll be out with Molly, she needs a day to herself with all the testing on Nicholas and appointments. Mary will be with us, I have my phone." She kissed him then before heading out to the foyer. Mycroft looked at the files, and then at the empty room.

"Bollocks."

He didn't have to open them to guess what was inside. He was ashamed that he had not even guessed Anthea would be looking for possible candidates for adoption. Good grief. If she had narrowed it down to three already, they could be parents…soon. God. That was fast. Was he prepared to be a parent in as little as a few months?

_No. _

Was Anthea?

_Yes. _

He had long ago promised Anthea if it was in his power, he would do whatever it took, whether adoption or some other means (short of breaking the law, naturally) that they would have a child. Anthea trusted him and took matters into her hands to a point, leaving, ultimately, the decision up to him. He could easily sweep these files into the shredder, declare them unfit, none of them even remotely resembling them (not that such a trifling thing mattered to them). What stopped him was that he knew Anthea would not take such a task lightly, she was thorough in all things, and this would be no different.

Setting aside the breakfast dishes, he picked up the folders and went to his office. He ignored the papers for a good minute or so, hanging up his coat and calling up the housekeeper to start a fire for him. Finally he sat down and lined them up in a row in alphabetical order. Finally, he took the first, heart pounding in his chest. Anthea had not been lying, she had been on an online chat for barren women, but she'd also been contacting adoption agencies and running background checks in UK and parts of Europe. She knew what sort of child Mycroft had hoped she would look for, and she had found three that met exactly what he wanted. All three files contained a photograph and no more than three paragraphs regarding the child's health and what was known of its background. All three children were under the age of two. He studied the files; he called the numbers at the bottom of each page and discovered that Anthea had also made visits to each of the orphanages.

"And how was she when she visited with the child?" Mycroft asked. The first two both replied in a similar manner:

'_She seemed content with the baby, very pleased of course.' _

The third was different. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Mycroft worried that something was wrong.

"The baby seemed quite taken with her, and she with it," the woman said. "You see this little one doesn't often smile, but Mrs. Holmes seemed to bring out quite a bit more, more than we've seen from other parents-to-be."

And just like that, Mycroft had his answer.

**That Night**

When Anthea returned home, she found Mycroft in his office, mulling over paperwork.

"How was my sister in-law?" he asked as she set her purchases down.

"Better by the end of the day, and Mary was glad to get out of the house too."

"And you?" he asked.

"Yes me too," she smiled and kissed him before reading the document he held. "Is this for tomorrow?"

"No, for next week. The rest of the week is booked for us, actually." He reached into his desk drawer, withdrawing a file and setting it in her hands.

"What's this?"

"Our decision."

She opened the folder, and Mycroft almost held his breath. She stared at the picture, before she could ask him anything else; he placed another form (just recently faxed over) into the file she held. She read it once, and then twice, just to be sure. Hands trembling, she looked at him.

"Are you certain?"

"Quite," he said, getting to his feet. He crossed the room, taking down a glass and the brandy decanter. "I've made an appointment, our paperwork is being processed, that's the form we have to fill out once we get there; they wanted us to read it first, obviously. We may go and visit the baby any time we wish, though I think we ought to have a nursery set up first."

Anthea was upon him before he could set his glass down. Her laughter filled the room as she kissed him.

**Halifax, UK**

"Meet Ashwini," the woman in the orphanage brought the baby to Anthea, who gently took her, holding her close. Ashwini's mother had died giving birth, 'too young' the file had said. She was a beautiful baby, Indian, clearly, if her name was not enough of a hint. It hardly mattered that she looked nothing like either Anthea or Mycroft. Mycroft watched his wife laugh and tickle Ashwini's chubby cheeks. Suddenly, wide, dark eyes blinked, and the baby was smiling, stuffing her fists into her mouth and giggling. A flicker of warmth deep down within made him almost forget himself. The whole rotten year might have been worth this moment, surely. Seeing Anthea take so naturally to the child, Mycroft forgot entirely how he'd hoped for a son. He found himself picturing Anthea hand-in-hand with Ashwini in the kitchen, or taking tea in the garden. Prim dresses and miniature tea-sets. Good heavens.

Mycroft Holmes was going to be a father.

~O~

Over the months to follow while the paperwork was filled out and sent, re-sent and copied (all expedited, thank heavens he had that sort of pull), they made frequent visits. The second visit, Anthea turned and placed Ashwini into his arms.

"Here's your father, look at dad," she said gently, and he glanced up from his arms at her, startled by the newness of the word 'father'. He suddenly felt too bony and stiff for such a small child. Little babies must be cuddled by soft, kind people, not bony men who ran governments and sometimes did terrible things. He felt terribly awkward, and for a moment, Ashwini pulled a frown and began to cry. "Oh-oh, little one," Anthea soothed and Mycroft made to give her back.

"Do take her she'll cry," he flustered but Anthea steadied his hands. He looked helplessly at the baby squirming in his arms, turning her head back and forth, wriggling. Her dark eyes were about to spill over with tears when suddenly she looked up at him, and Mycroft was caught. He stared back, and she stilled. "I think she is studying me," he marveled. After a moment, Ashwini stuck her fingers in her mouth and relaxed entirely, apparently deciding she approved of him. He held her for the remainder of the visit and Anthea made no comment on it.

As they made to leave, he turned to hold the door for Anthea, and saw Ashwini standing in her crib, peering through the bars, watching them intently. He was startled by the lump in his throat. Anthea saw him hesitating.

"We'll be back in a week," she reminded him.

"Yes I know," he replied quickly and ushered her out without another look behind.

Home that night, he pondered that day's events and what it meant. He had not truly considered what being a father would mean for him. Obviously, providing for the child, but it was Anthea who had the mothering instinct. He disliked the trepidation that was swiftly overtaking him. He did not know why he had merely assumed Anthea would take care of the child.

"Stupid," he muttered under his breath. Of course he would provide everything Ashwini needed, he would protect her to the very best of his ability. He had not counted on actually caring for the child, at least not so quickly.

Weekends were spent in Halifax for the express purpose of visiting Ashwini (as there is little to do in Halifax, Mycroft, when not at the orphanage, worked from the hotel room). They returned from one such weekend to hear noises from the upstairs in their home. Curious, they followed the sounds up the stairs and down the hall to the nursery.

"What the hell-?" Mycroft uttered. Molly sat on the floor, swearing over a corner of the crib they'd bought (still in pieces). Sherlock, wearing a baby sling, Nicholas tucked safely inside, held the instructions.

"Turn it over, woman," he pointed. "Slot 'b' into slot 'e',"

"I swear to God, Sherlock," Molly pointed at him, and then catching sight of Mycroft and Anthea in the doorway, smiled. "You're back!"

"Yes…" Mycroft stepped into the nursery, still confused. "And you are in our home."

"Yes. Sherlock has a spare key. Anthea said you hadn't set up the crib yet, we thought we'd put up the furniture while you were away."

"I have people to do this," Mycroft said. Anthea had already set her bag down in the doorway, stepped over the broken down box and taken the instructions from Sherlock, who resumed swaying back and forth to sooth Nicholas.

"It's more fun to do it yourself," Molly shrugged. "Oh! Anthea, Mary and I want to go shopping with you, for baby clothes," Mycroft made a face. Just because they were adopting a baby did not mean they needed everyone to jump into their lives.

"Mycroft," Anthea said, her tone warning and he huffed in response, turning instead to Sherlock.

"I don't suppose you could have talked her out of this?" Mycroft asked, nodding to Molly.

"I've stopped trying to talk her out of things since her second trimester," Sherlock replied with a shrug.

_Family _

Another unexpected result of adopting. Mycroft had not counted on family being even more present in his life than before. Naturally, his mother and father were (reluctantly) told, and were overjoyed. The one real source of joy from the entire turn of events (aside, of course, from Ashwini) was that Anthea was happy, truly, she seemed to glow. She took to eating regularly again, her sleep was restful and deep, and Mycroft was pleased, even if it meant Molly was constantly sending over sweets (she baked when Nicholas had doctors appointments) or that Sherlock would regularly test the security of the house by trying to break into the nursery (he had thus-far been tased twice and sprained his wrist falling from the window ledge).

"I can have one of my men set it up for Baker street, of course," Mycroft said to Molly when she came to fetch Sherlock.

"Git," Sherlock muttered. "Obviously it's already been set up."

"Obviously." Mycroft shrugged.

**At the docks in London**

Mycroft and Sherlock stood side-by-side, facing the water. Under their feet a body was floating face-down. A team was already descending the ladder to fish out the corpse.

"Is Molly available for the post-mortem?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock tucked his phone into his pocket.

"She'll leave Nicholas with Mrs. Hudson, she'll be at Barts by the time the body get's there."

"Excellent," Mycroft rocked on his heels, and suddenly a single cigarette was held under his nose.

"Just the one, mind," Sherlock said, wearing a smirk. Mycroft took it, finding a pack of matches in his waist-pocket.

"How is Nicholas?"

"Growing, and…not," Sherlock looked frustrated. "The doctors have sent for a specialist, they've narrowed down his condition to two possibilities, one is quite rare, I am not even sure there is enough to go on to label it, but we'll know in a month." He looked longingly at the cigarette between Mycroft's fingers.

"Not a chance, brother-mine, you've a child now."

"You'll have one in a few days."

"Tomorrow," Mycroft released a breath of smoke. He dropped the cigarette, stamping it out. "Best not have Anthea catch whiff of that," he murmured.

They lingered on the docks, watching the ships bob up and down on the gentle waves.

"Is it difficult, being a father?" Mycroft asked suddenly. Sherlock pursed his mouth, thinking.

"Hm. Not as hard as I thought it would be…and infinitely more-so."

"How annoying."

"Mm. The thing is, once they're in your life, you worry, but then you don't, because obviously, the limitations of babies decrease as they grow, but then they're constantly growing and absorbing, they are…rather more fascinating than I had previously thought."

"Well…proper children are, we were," Mycroft shrugged, nose in the air. He toed at the muddy planks under their feet with a grimace. "I…don't suppose you've any," another face. "Words of encouragement."

Sherlock half-turned, regarding his brother with a curious, almost amused expression.

"That's amusing, coming from you who practically raised me."

"I didn't raise you, I dragged you out of the trouble you always seemed to fling yourself headlong into, I still do, matter of fact. It is different with children."

"Yes it is. You'll simply have to find out for yourself, brother-dear," Sherlock turned to go. He turned, walking backwards. "A word of advice, don't bring babies to crime scenes."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, looking at the stamped out cigarette by his shoe, and keenly wishing for just one more.

In a few moments, as he was heading to St. Barts, his phone beeped and did not stop for almost ten minutes.

_In all honesty having a child is the singular most petrifying thing in the entire world. You never stop worrying from the moment they're born. - SH _

_Most horrifying of all is that there is nothing you would not do for them, and the worry about the enemies you've made will rob you of sleep. – SH _

_Also they are smelly, noisy, spit up on your shirts, drool, fart, piss, stain and make unholy messes of everything. – SH _

_But then there are also very nice things about babies. – SH_

_Especially if it is your baby. – SH. _

_Such as? – MH_

_The way she looks when she's holding it in the morning. – SH _

_Or when you hold it for the first time and he smiles at you. –SH _

_'She' in your case. – SH _

_There are moments when you will absolutely reek and hate everything about your current life, until they are placed in your arms and they are so foolishly trusting, they don't care what you have done that day. They are simply pleased to be, and be with you. – SH _

_In other words, brother-dear, don't worry. The nerves are all a part of it. If the rest of the world can raise half-decent peons, what can we accomplish with our own children? – SH_

_Good night, Sherlock. –MH_


	5. You'll Know What to Do

_Scene inspired by the cutest youtube video ever, absolutely look up 'Sweet Baby Experiences Rain For the First Time'. OMG. For those inquiring about Nicholas, you can read all about his adventures in my other fic titled "Just Like Da"_

* * *

"There we are, look at that, isn't it pretty?" Ashwini gripped Anthea's fingers before she dropped down to her knees, the lilac bushes just out of reach of her little hands.

_Home_

Now it was a proper home. Ashwini was properly theirs, already Molly was calling her 'Winnie' for short, and Mycroft supposed it was a charming enough nickname. His daughter, (good heavens, that was new) adapted beautifully to her surroundings, and was content especially in her mummy's arms. Mycroft begrudgingly admitted that Sherlock was right. The first morning home, Mycroft had risen to peek into the nursery. There by the window as the sun was rising stood Anthea, bathed in the morning glow, Ashwini cradled in her arms. Mycroft was quite certain this was what good men went to war for. Days were busier than ever, and both were loathe to hire a nanny yet. Anthea could easily work from home, and Mycroft had no qualms about it. Until things ultimately settled though, he alternated days at the office unless there was a crisis that he had to fly out for. He didn't often get to hold Ashwini, too busy, was his excuse, but he did smile at her, and he spoke to her when they were in the same room.

A whole month after her home-coming, Mycroft took a precious day off, of his own accord. Or at least it was a day off by their standards, which meant at least two laptops were running and emails were constantly checked, but then, at least they weren't at the office.

Ashwini, just over a year now, got around rather quickly on her hands and knees, though walking and running were well under-way. Her motor skills were not as keenly developed, having been in a very small and overcrowded orphanage, but the pediatrician said that once in her own home, Ashwini would flourish, and indeed she had.

So much space! So many things to do and touch and see and explore.

"I think crawling is faster for her, for now," Mycroft said as Ashwini made her way across the lawn to the flower beds.

"For now," Anthea agreed, coming to stand beside him. Her phone beeped in her pocket. "Oh, bollocks, watch her for a few minutes, it's those papers from South Korea, I'll be ten minutes," she said, starting to head into the house, pausing to pick up Ashwini, giving her to her father.

"But-" he struggled with the baby until he was able to right her, boosting her up a little with his knee.

"She's alright, just keep her out of the flower beds!" Ashwini, seeing her mother leave, opened her mouth and began to bawl.

"Oh- bollocks," he muttered, startled by the sudden tears.

"Just calm her down," Anthea called, phone to her ear, hand over the receiver. She disappeared from view again, heading to the office.

"Um…just calm the child," he groused. "Yes, of course," he bounced up and down, trying to keep his own heart-rate down. Babies sense stress, like dogs. Perhaps that wasn't a good comparison. "Shall I set you down?" he asked her. No. Don't ask questions, just do, that's what Anthea's book said. "I'll set you down." Once on the lawn, Ashwini broke off fistfuls of grass, still sobbing. Mycroft, hands on his hips, watched her. If she was determined to cry, then there was nothing he could do about it. Besides children at this age suffered separation anxiety. What did that bloody book say to do? Oh, distract the child. Well then, what to do about that?

By chance, a fat rain drop landed squarely on Ashwini's head, then another, and another. She stopped crying for a moment, so startled at whatever was dropping onto her. She touched her head, letting out a feeble sob. She looked upwards to the grey sky, as another drop of rain fell, and another. She giggled, holding her hands out as it began to rain.

"It's raining," he said. "Time to go inside," he reached for her.

"No!" she insisted, but he picked her up. The clouds opened up just as he reached the back steps. Ashwini let out a squeal, long and shrill, struggling to get out of his arms.

"You'll be ill," he said. He set her down to open the door, but she scurried out of his grasp, running out to the lawn again, holding her arms out, hands opening and closing. After a moment she gave a joyful stomp, managing a little hop. She turned holding her arms up and laughing.

"Da!"

And there it was.

He stopped, standing in the rain, watching his, yes, _his_, daughter, laugh and giggle at her first summer rain, trying to catch every drop in her hands. He watched, amused and yes, even marveling as she gleefully stood, getting wetter by the minute, studying her surroundings. After a moment, common sense got the better of him.

"Come here," he said, crossing the short distance between them, his tone light. "You'll get sick,"

"No!" she laughed. He gave her bottom a light pat.

"Yes," He set her in the doorway. "We can watch from here-" but she squirmed out from between his legs, out into the rain again, arms outright. Bloody hell, it was like Sherlock all over again! She whirled around, hands opening and closing, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement as if to say _'See? Don't you see how wonderful this is?!'_

She licked her upper lip, tasting the water on her skin, laughing up at him. She waved her arms and jumped again, so very pleased at this new sensation. He came to stand with her, and she held onto his trouser leg, holding her free hand up to the sky grasping at the air. His waistcoat was now properly ruined by the rain, his shirt well and truly soaked. Their hair clung to their scalps, but the rain was not cold, and there was no breeze or chill. Ashwini looked so very happy and pleased with herself, he didn't even mind. He couldn't mind. Not when she was so intent on sharing her joy with him.

"What on earth are you doing?" Anthea cried from the doorway. Mycroft scooped up Ashwini.

"Now see we're both in trouble," he murmured in her ear before sitting down in the doorway. Anthea fetched towels and Ashwini stood still while he rubbed her down, wrapping her up in another dry towel.

"Bring her in, quick!" Anthea worried.

"It's very warm out," Mycroft said. Ashwini stood, bundled up between her father's knees, his arms tucked around her small frame.

"But-"

"Look at her, 'Thea," he said quietly. Ashwini was quiet now, watching the back yard change, flowers drooped under the weight of the rain, petals scattered and soggy along the flower beds. Everywhere there tracks of water running down, off of grass, off the fruit tree, down the banister and steps. "She likes it."

"I think you do too," he looked up as she bent, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She sat down, squeezing herself next to him in the doorway, resting her head against him. In a few moments, the showers passed and Mycroft stood, but Ashwini did not reach for Anthea, she held onto Mycroft's hand, tugging him along inside. "Bath time," Anthea said. "That's all you, papa."

"Well…er-" he began, suddenly realizing he'd never bathed a child before.

"I've already got everything set out and ready, just strip her down and don't let the soap get in her eyes." Another kiss, and then Anthea was down the hallway, back to dealing with South Korea. Ashwini had removed the towel, dragging it along behind her. "You'll be fine," Anthea called from the office.

"Right," he murmured, and picked up Ashwini, heading upstairs.

Anthea smiled to herself, knowing the bathroom would be an absolute mess after Ashwini's bath. But then, she was fairly certain Mycroft would enjoy that too.


End file.
